The words surprised me enough I blinked. “And you disagree?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
His gaze shifted toward the fire.
“Because every time I stay in one place too long lately, another part of England catches fire.”
The quiet bitterness beneath the words settled heavily between us. I looked down at the map in my lap instead of him. “That’s not your fault.”
“No,” Geoffrey said softly. “But that distinction matters less after the third village.”
For one strange suspended moment, the solar felt less like a room inside a medieval castle and more like a small fragile pocket of warmth surviving against the edge of something enormous and merciless.
The fire had burned lower during our conversation, settling into deep orange coals beneath blackened logs while candlelight moved softly across the solar walls. Somewhere belowstairs a door opened and shut. Distant voices drifted briefly through the corridor before fading again into silence.
I pulled the blanket tighter around myself before asking softly, “How bad is it really?”
The question settled between us.
Outside, wind moved hard against the shutters. For one moment I expected Geoffrey to deflect again. Another polished diplomatic answer. Another carefully measured explanation designed to reassure everyone around him while revealing absolutely nothing real.
Instead he leaned forward slowly, forearms braced against his knees, eyes fixed on the fire.
“I no longer know who means what they say,” he admitted quietly.
The honesty of it startled me.
“At court?”
“At court. Among the barons. Among the king’s men.” He exhaled slowly through his nose. “Everyone lies now, Harper. Constantly. Alliances shift by the hour depending on who feels insulted, frightened, or ambitious that morning.”
Firelight moved across the sharp line of his jaw as he spoke.
“Men speak about loyalty while quietly negotiating with both sides. Priests preach peace beside halls preparing for siege. Nobles toast one another at supper then send riders through the night arranging betrayals before dawn.”
His mouth curved bitterly.
“And the worst part is that after enough time surrounded by it...” He stopped briefly. “You begin adapting.”
Something in the way he said it made my chest tighten.
“You hate politics,” I said softly.
“I used to think I merely hated court.” His gaze remained fixed on the flames. “Now I think I hate what surviving court requires.”
Geoffrey rubbed one hand slowly across his mouth before continuing.
“You learn how to manipulate people because failing to do so becomes dangerous. You learn which truths to soften. Which fears to exploit. Which men require flattery and which requirehumiliation.” His voice lowered slightly. “You begin calculating every conversation before it happens.”
I thought suddenly of modern corporate meetings. Performance reviews. Networking dinners. Entire industries built around strategic charm. 1215 apparently had fewer LinkedIn posts and significantly more executions.
“And you’re good at it,” I realized quietly.
Geoffrey looked up at me then. There was no pride in his expression.
“That,” he said softly, “is precisely the problem.”